Rogue Highlander

by Sondra Grey

  “I went to bed before I could drink enough to do me in,” said Isla, lightly. “I’ve seen enough men sick in the morning with drink to know when I’ve had enough.”

  That wasn’t entirely true. She had a feeling that if she’d been in her right mind, she might never have allowed things to get out of hand last night. She might have remembered the complication surrounding her identity. Might have saved herself the uncertainty, for she’d come to the conclusion earlier on in the evening. She’d tell him everything tonight. She had faith in him. He’d still marry her. He’d murmured his love to her during their union last night. “I love you, lass,” he’d groaned into her hair.

  She’d wanted to tell him that she loved him too, but she didn’t quite know if it were true. She was fascinated by him; he made her heart pound in her chest. But love? Maybe that was what that feeling of homecoming had been, love settling into her. She liked the idea and clung to it. It would give her the courage to tell him the truth.

  “Can’t say the same for the Laird,” murmured Allan. “Saw him this morning in a fine fettle, between the knock on the head and the morning distemper, he was in the blackest of foul moods. Fergus thought it was a terrible idea to let the two Laird’s speak this morning, but it looked as if Leith was equally affected by last night.” He started chuckling to himself. “They were in there so long that Fergus sent Geordie in to check and make sure the one hadn’t killed the other…”

  He started laughing a bit harder, silently quaking with it. Isla shot a glance at Mrs. Allan who looked at her husband perplexed.

  Finally, Allan gasped for breath and choked out. “They were both passed out in their chairs. The MacLeod slumped over the desk, the Laird with his… with his head…” The rest of the words were lost as Allan started choking on laughter.

  Isla found herself smiling bemusedly.

  “Oh!” said Allan, wiping the tears that had formed on the corners of their eyes. “Geordie thought they’d been poisoned. He ran up and startled the Macleod so that they knocked noggins…” he was lost to laughter again.

  “Men,” murmured Mrs. Allan, but she looked amused.

  The rest of the dinner passed without incident with Mrs. Allan commenting that Isla hadn’t really touched her dinner. Isla was off her appetite. Her thoughts kept travelling back to last night, and she was nervous about her upcoming conversation with the Laird. Still, she’d sworn to herself that she was going to tell him the truth, and she wasn’t going to be a coward about it.

  “It sounds as though the Laird might use willow bark for his head,” she said. “I have to remove the stitches, in any case.”

  “Gird yourself, lass,” warned Allan. He didn’t need to warn her.

  Isla ascended the stairs twenty minutes later with the tea and her bag of herbs and salves. There was nobody waiting on the Laird this evening, and when she knocked on his bedchamber door there was no answer. Was he in the solar then? Isla turned the corner of the hall. There was a door to the solar on the other side of the hallway and she knocked there.

  “Enter,” came the command from within. Isla opened the door, hoping that he was alone. To her relief, he was. He was sitting at his desk, staring at few papers, holding a quill in his fingers as if he’d been writing. When he saw her he placed the quill down. Isla wasn’t sure what she was expecting from him, but it wasn’t wariness.

  Perhaps he thought he’d hurt her? Perhaps he was waiting to see what she’d do? She drew her healer’s persona around her, standing tall and moving brusquely inside the room. “I brought you tea, for your head,” she said. “And those stitches need to come out.”

  He seemed to relax then, and she wondered what he’d thought she’d do? She set the tea down and set to removing the few small stitches that she’d set.

  She stood closer to him than she needed to, crowding him where he sat in his chair so that his face was pressed nearly into her bosom. She pushed aside thoughts of last night and concentrated on not hurting him.

  Once the stitches were out, she cleaned the marks, and stepped back. Calum’s eyes were closed, his face grim and set. Having seen him so carefree, so happy last night, she didn’t like to see him like this. She reached down and cupped the uninjured side of his face. His eyes open then and burned into hers.

  Isla took a breath and stepped back.

  Calum took a breath too, and said, “Thomasina, lass, we need to talk.”

  Isla nodded. “We do,” she said. She couldn’t figure out why he looked so grim. Did he already suspect who she was? Had she told him last night and forgotten? No. She hadn’t been that in her cups.

  “Lass, I’m terribly sorry for last night.”

  “Sorry?”.

  “Yes. I should never… we should not have…” His chin was firm and he looked up, resolve in his dark gaze.

  “It’s okay,” said Isla, needing instinctively to comfort him. She stepped towards him again, but he rose and stepped away, as if needing distance to speak to her. Isla’s heart skipped a beat, and dread began to pool in the pit of her stomach.

  “Lass, you were a virgin, and I took that from you. It’s something I cannot give back to you.”

  “Calum,” she said, she couldn’t stop herself. “I don’t want it back…”

  “You do lass. You’ll be hard pressed to find a man who’ll take you to wife without it…” He moved around his desk, but not towards her. He paced to the other side of the room and then back.

  It took that long for his words to register with Isla.

  “You mean,” she started but couldn’t finish the sentence. Her lips felt numb, as if the blood had left her face. “You mean you weren’t going to… to…”

  “Lass, I cannot make this right…”

  “Marry me?” she finished just as the words left his mouth. They both gaped at each other.

  “Marry you?” he said, incredulous, looking at her as if she’d grown a second head.

  “Make it right?” Her brain was rioting. “You can make it right!” Her voice rose, disbelief giving way to anger. Gone were any thoughts of revealing to him who she was. He hadn’t ever planned on marrying her? He’d taken her to bed simply for… for…

  “I can’t,” he said, firmly, but he looked at her with dawning awareness. “You mean to say, you thought I was going to? That you bedded me because you thought to wed me?”

  “I bedded you because I wanted you!” she said, her anger growing now, nearly as strong as her lust had been. “And because I thought you were an honest man…”

  He cursed. “I am an honest man!”

  “Well then what are you going to do about this!” Isla waved her hand between the two of them. “You’re going to take my innocence and cast me out?”

  His gaze darkened. “You plotted this, then, did you?”

  She felt as if she’d been slapped. “If you weren’t my patient. If I weren’t responsible for the care of you, I’d kill you for the accusation. I wanted you, and I thought you wanted me. You told me you loved me…” Her voice was low and dangerous, full of righteous venom.

  “I wasn’t in my right head,” he snarled. “I was deep in my cups, could you not see that?”

  “So this is my fault!”

  “No!” He waved his hand, silencing her next tirade of accusations.

  “No,” he repeated. “The fault is mine. The responsibility is mine.”

  Isla stared at him. “So you’ll do the right thing?”

  He cursed, and ran a hand through his hair, wincing as he clearly forgot about the healing wound. “I’ve gathered funds. For your services as a healer, but they’re generous. They’ll make a fine dowry, lass…”

  “I don’t want your money!” Isla snapped. She was breathing as if she’d just run up a hill. It was taking all of her willpower not to fly at him, not to unleash her temper on the room. “There is no reason at all why you can’t marry me…”

  “No reason at all!” he cut her off, his voice rising in disbelief. “I’m a Grant Chiefta
in in the middle of peace negotiations! It’s my responsibility to create alliances between the clans! I’ll not go off my duty to marry a village healer…”

  Isla reeled backwards.

  “…I’m to go to The Macleod’s in a week’s time to meet his daughters…”

  A still and dangerous calm was flooding Isla as Calum spoke. Her limbs felt heavy and weightless at the same time. Her head felt as it were floating above her body, and her voice was not her own as she cut him off. “I’ll take none of your guilt money. I don’t regret what we did. My only regret is that you are not the man I thought you were.” She was satisfied at his startled expression, her words silencing him more effectively than a slap across the face. The realization that she’d been taken advantage of, that she’d been a complete fool…

  “I’ll take what you promised me from the outset,” she said. “I’ll take my horse, and enough supplies to get me to my relatives. And I’ll leave on the morrow.”

  She was sickened when he looked relieved.

  “Lass,” he said, his voice quiet now, “You’ve no need to leave so soon…”

  “I leave on the morrow,” she bit out. “And you will see that I’ve a horse, supplies, and directions to where I need to go.”

  There was silence between them, and tension as they met each other’s gaze. Isla knew she wasn’t imagining the spark of desire either, the anger turning into something sharper, both for him, and for her. He stepped forward as if to go to her, but Isla stepped back. She knew she needed to leave. All she had left now was her pride. Steel.

  She turned and swept out of the room.

  CHAPTER NINE

  I sla couldn’t have imagined anything worse than being chased out of Elleric, but leaving Dundur Castle was nearly as bad. She was certain she’d be able to ride off without issue. The Laird would have a horse seated and provisions for her. No goodbyes. No company. She’d be alone to lick her wounds.

  This was not the case. Calum wouldn’t let her ride off alone, but put together a small band of clansmen to escort her to her relative’s home. And the entire castle turned out to see her off, even Hugh, who looked drawn but healthy, as he leaned against Allan and gave her a warm hug of parting.

  In her head, Isla counted thistles, the monotonous rhythm of the numbers allowed her to focus on something other than her broken heart. When Mrs. Allan embraced her warmly and said how sincerely she hoped they’d meet again, Isla nearly broke down. But she managed to hold herself together, to make it up onto the horse, and to ride off with the three clansmen leading the way.

  It took just over a day to reach Cairnie, the town her mother had mentioned when she spoke of home. There’d been some confusion over where they were headed – the Laird had told his men to take her to Haughs. But Isla was no longer concerned with hiding from the Stewarts. If they hadn’t found her yet, they probably were not searching.

  The ride was terrible. Isla kept vacillating between shame, anger, and despair. She said nothing to the clansmen who, after two hours, stopped trying to engage her in conversation.

  Their party reached Cairnie just as the sun was beginning to sink beyond the horizon and Isla despaired finding her relatives before dark. All she had was her aunt’s name: Rhona Gordon. Her plan had been to leave the Grant clansmen at the village’s edge, but Calum had apparently issued a directive that they were to see her to the door of her aunt’s home. Still a prisoner. How had she let herself forget?

  As Isla stared around the town, wondering what her next move would be, she noted that Cairnie wasn’t unlike Elleric, except perhaps a bit wealthier. The buildings looked just a bit newer and there were a few more shop fronts. They posted the horses at an inn, and while the men went to find food at the nearby tavern, Isla went into the shops to see if anyone had known Deirdre or Rhona Gordon.

  The smithy was the first place she tried, as the doors to the forge were wide open and the blacksmith and his apprentice were wandering around, either closing up or between projects.

  “Excuse me,” Isla called, catching the attention of the apprentice. The boy’s eyes widened when they set on her and he straightened. It said something about the state of her misery that she couldn’t even joy in his reaction to her. She felt joyless and knew she looked bleak, especially when the blacksmith, looked on sympathetically, stayed his apprentice with a patient hand, and moved to speak with her.

  “Can I help you?”

  Isla almost broke into tears. It wasn’t his offer of aid, but his accent. Deirdre’s had always been just a bit different, proof that she’d grown up in the east. That accent was thicker on the blacksmith’s tongue, but it sounded of Deirdre, and suddenly Isla wanted nothing more than to embrace her mother. She could almost see Deirdre’s reaction, a fierce and quick hug and a quick release. No use crying, Isla-lass. You’ve made your decisions. You get on with your life now.

  Isla straightened her spine. “Yes,” she said. “I’m looking for my aunt. Rhona Gordon. I think she might live nearby, and I’m hoping you know of her.”

  The blacksmith regarded her thoughtfully with a keen, dark gaze. Then he nodded. “Your aunt you say?”

  “Do you know her?”

  “I know a few Gordons around here,” his smile was kind but edged with suspicion. “You’re on Gordon land.”

  Isla nodded. “But Rhona is a unique enough name, is it not?” It wasn’t as if her aunt were named Mary, or Anne…

  “Aye, it is. But before I give you bad directions, you best come with me.”

  He moved out of his shop, and Isla cast a glance towards the village center to see one of the Grant clansmen come out of the inn and head towards them. Isla followed the blacksmith two doors down to a bakery that looked closed. But when the blacksmith hammered a meaty fist against the door, it opened and an older woman stood in the entry, looking at Isla and the blacksmith with annoyed curiosity. “What is it, Roy?”

  “The lass is looking for a Rhona Gordon, and before I tell her wrong, that’ll be the Lady Gordon’s first name, will it not? You’re friendly enough with her, so I assume you know.”

  Isla blanked, Lady Gordon?

  The woman was nodding her head when Isla cut in, “Oh no. I don’t believe my aunt is a Lady. My mother was…”

  “The only Rhona Gordon within five miles is the Lady Gordon over in Gighty Grey.” The woman pointed a finger over the cottage roofs and towards the east. “Just two miles that direction, heading towards the castle.”

  “Castle?”

  “Huntly. Where the Earl sits. Rhona’s old Alec’s niece. Married to a Huntly.”

  Isla felt her panic rising. This wasn’t her aunt. Her mother was not related to an earl. She was from Cairnie, the villagers might know her name.

  But as Isla cast a glance over her shoulder and saw the Grant men approaching, she turned an imploring gaze to the blacksmith and the baker. “Can you help me?” she said, she must have sound panicked for the blacksmith glanced over his shoulder and said, immediately. “What do you need lass?”

  “I’ve no time to tell the story, but I need you embrace me,” she said to the woman.

  The woman looked suspicious but glanced over her shoulder at the Grant men and nodded, concerned. So Isla threw her arms about the woman, bending to do so, and the woman hugged her back.

  Then Isla let go, turned, and rushed over to where the clansmen were. “Thank you,” she said, quickly to them, halting them in their tracks. “I’ve found my aunt. Over there.” She gestured to the bakery doorway. “And I’d offer to let you stay, but she’s a suspicious sort, and I’m sure you’ll be wanting to get back.”

  Isla knew it was rude not to offer them hospitality, and was nearly shocked when the baker woman came up behind her.

  “Thank you, gentlemen,” the woman said, her voice firm with authority. She bore loaves of bread and began handing them to the Grant men. “For seeing this young woman to my door. I regret I can offer you no further hospitality.”

  The Grants looked con
fused, but one of them nodded finally and said, “I was our pleasure. Thomasina has done us a great service, and we are happy to see her returned home.”

  Isla turned without a further word of thanks and the baker woman turned with her. “You’d best come inside,” the woman said, ushering Isla into the warm interior of the bakery. After glancing once more at the Grant men, the Blacksmith came too.

  “Are you in trouble, lass?” He asked, quietly, as the door shut behind the three of them.

  Isla took a deep breath and shook her head. “No. But I fear my mission may have been for naught. I came here from the western coast, seeking my aunt after my mother passed. My mother didn’t speak of my aunt much, but I know her name was Rhona Gordon.” At least, Isla hoped she was correct, but now she wasn’t so sure.

  “If it helps,” said the baker woman, taking Isla hand up, “You’ve the look of the Lady Gordon, and if she came in here and claimed you to be her niece, I’d not be a whit surprised. She’s tall, too, and though her eyes are green, not blue, she’s that same dark hair…”

  Isla nodded. Deirdre’s eyes had been green. And people often said that Isla was the image of her mother.

  “Roy, can you hitch up your wagon and take the girl out there before it gets too dark?” the woman asked.

  The blacksmith nodded. And when Isla thanked them both profusely, Roy winked at her and said, “It never hurts to do a favor for the Gordon’s. The Earl is fiercely fond of his niece and her family. And he’s nothing but sons over there since he married his daughter off.”

  “Are you hungry?” the woman asked Isla, moving to the shelves to offer Isla something. But Isla shook her head. She couldn’t eat a thing. Her stomach was in knots.

  It took only a few minutes for Roy to harness a shaggy pony to his worn-looking delivery cart, and they were soon on their way, heading southeast down a well-travelled road. Isla fidgeted and was relieved when Roy didn’t ask her questions. He handled the reigns with a practiced hand, and soon they were pulling up to a four story tower house, with a small gatehouse and garden. Gighty Grey.